


Quake, the Pillars of Heaven

by Liron_aria



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU after The Purge, And a bit of surprise!plot, BAMF!Sam Winchester, Bodily Autonomy, Do not tick off Jessica Moore if you value your personal safety, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I am a hardcore Sam!girl, Mark of Cain (mentioned), Possession is a rape parallel, Sam validation, featuring not-a-jerk!John Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 11:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1346533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liron_aria/pseuds/Liron_aria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The pillars of heaven quake, aghast at His rebuke." ~ Job 26:11, NIV</p>
<p>After a ritual gone wrong, Dean expected obstacles in retrieving his brother. Jessica Moore punching him in the face hard enough to knock him off his feet was not one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quake, the Pillars of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Safiyabat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiyabat/gifts).



> This is in response to Safiyabat's wonderful Purge This prompt on tumblr: http://safiyabat.tumblr.com/post/77218016810/another-fic-prompt If any of you follow me on tublr, you'll know what a thrilling and exhausting ride this has been.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, Sam would get a ton more screen time, meaningful relationships with other characters, and Jess. Jess would come back.
> 
> But that is neither here nor there, so please, sit back and enjoy!

It was Sam who found the answer, of course it was.

All those weeks of searching, of trying to figure out how to open the gates of Heaven again, and it was Sam who pointed out that just because the angels were locked out, that didn't mean normal souls had to be.

Dean pitched a fit when he realised the implications of Sam's statement, especially when Sam suggested they might have to be the ones making the journey.

"How do you even know we'll even make it up there?" Dean demanded, "With the Mark of Cain, the Apocalypse, and everything else, what makes you think we're actually going to end up at the Pearly Gates?"

Sam's expression tightened slightly, before smoothing out into the blank mask he so often wore. "Well, if you've got any other ideas, I'm listening."

"There's gotta be another way, we'll _find another way_."

They didn't, of course, and after too many sleepless nights and coffee and angry silences, Sam found a seance ritual they could modify to send a soul to Heaven. Sam called it 'directed astral projection' and Dean called it 'metaphysical bullshit mojo' and 'no, Sammy, we're not doing this, don't even think about it.'

It was Cas who pointed out that Dean would physically be barred from Heaven because of the Mark of Cain, and that Sam's blood was still purified from the Trials.

Yeah, that went over like a lead balloon.

"You cannot seriously be thinking about this!"

"What other choice to we have, Dean? This ritual could _work_ -"

"Do you want to _die_ , is that it?"

Sam's breath caught in his throat. He didn't _want_ to die, but he had been _ready_ , and he was so _tired_. There was no net benefit to his continued existence, and most days he didn't even feel _human_ , let alone like a person of any worth. This wasn't living, it was barely surviving.

Dean hadn't taken his hesitation very well, either.

After everything Dean had done, after everything they'd been through, what the Hell was _wrong_ with him, how could Sam just throw away his life like that, how could he not want to live, Dean _needed him_ -

That was about the point that Sam stopped paying attention, retreating into himself to wait out Hurricane Dean. Castiel looked between them warily, unsure if he was meant to intervene, or even whose side he was supposed to be on. Sam’s life - _all_ life - was precious, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good.

“Well, you can just stick another angel in me, to keep me alive, right?” Sam snapped, looking up from his notes irritatedly, “You certainly seem to prefer their company to mine.”

“What’s that supposed mean?” Dean demanded, outraged.

What, was Sam supposed to have forgiven him for that?

The “argument” ended when Dean stormed off angrily to get drunk, Castiel trailing after him, and Sam looked back down at his notes. There was a lot of work to get done in too little time.

Dean was stubborn, but Sam had held out against Lucifer himself for centuries. When he dug in his heels, sequoia trees were easier to move. When Dean turned about-face and went from ignoring Sam’s work on the ritual to obsessively checking over every little detail to make sure Sam hadn’t made any mistakes, Sam just rolled his eyes. It was what he had expected, in the end.

Unfortunately, like a lot of Sam’s ideas, it blew up rather spectacularly.

 

* * *

 

Sam wasn’t sure what he expected when he got to Heaven. He knew on one level, Heaven was populated by memories of the souls residing there, and Cas had tried to explain the multi-dimensional aspect of his home to little avail. This was supposed to be a recon mission, trying to get the lay of the land and find the switch Metatron had flipped.

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam swallowed at the familiar voice and turned to face the speaker. A tall woman with a round face and blonde hair stood in front of him, a gentle smile on her face. His blood froze in his veins at the familiar voice, and his first thought was ‘Lucifer.’

After all, the last time he had seen Jessica Moore was when Lucifer wore her face, trying to break his spirit.

“... Jess?”

Was that him? Was that raw, cracked thing his voice?

Jess' smile widened and Sam felt the world shifting under his feet. She was so _happy_ to see him, she always was, even if they'd only been apart for a few hours of class. Jess smiled, and the orchestra that had been silent in Sam's head for nine years surged back to life, crying _'Jess, Jess_ ' and Sam remembered that he loved her.

Jess reached out for Sam and didn't flinch when he clasped her hand, gripping it tightly as if to make sure she was real.

"I don't - I don't understand," Sam said, "How are you here?" His expression seemed to melt into distress. "Are you -"

"I'm real, Sam," Jess replied, squeezing his hand back just as tightly. Seven years, she'd been waiting for him. _Centuries_ , she'd been waiting. "Come on. We've got a lot to talk about."

* * *

 

The ritual was supposed to put Sam in a deep trance, with his body and soul still connected to the physical plane. It wasn’t supposed to remove him from this plane entirely.

“Sammy?! Sam - Cas, bring him back!”

“I can’t, Dean.”

Dean rounded on the angel. “What do you mean, you can’t?!”

“He’s too far into the ritual now,” Cas replied gravely, “I can’t reach him.”

“Did he make it to Heaven?”

Cas didn’t reply.

“Dammit!”

* * *

 

Sam shook his head, his face creased in pain. "I can't, Jess. I don't have time." He needed to pull away from her, needed to get back to the mission, but his body wasn't listening.

Jess' expression was still infinitely gentle. "Don't worry, Sam. Time doesn't pass here like it does on Earth, or even Hell. We could talk for years, and it would still only be a moment on Earth, and even the rest of Heaven."

"It's not that -"

"Metatron won't find you, either."

Sam's jaw dropped. "How - uh. Okay. Maybe we should have that talk."

Jess grinned. She tugged on Sam's hand, stepping closer to him. "Can I ask a question?"

Sam's lips quirked up at the corner. "You just did."

Jess shot him a look, her nose scrunching up slightly. "Don't you pull those lawyer semantics on me, mister. I know your tickle spots, and I'm not afraid to use them!"

Sam barked out a laugh, remembering simpler times when his girlfriend tickling him to death was the greatest threat he faced. "Shoot, Jess."

"May I kiss you?"

Sam's brow furrowed slightly. "Of - of course. You don't have to ask-"

Jess leaned up to kiss him, and Sam's words stuttered and died. He had missed this, missed the way Jess _fit_ against him, they way she kissed gently and sweetly as if Sam was someone to be _treasured_. He missed her warmth, and the scent of jasmine and sandalwood in her hair.

And as she pulled away, her eyes full and bright, he realised he missed being _loved_.

"... Jess?"

Jess blinked, something sad in her eyes, and replied, "So much has been taken from you without your permission, I wanted to give you a choice in this, at least."

Sam's breath caught in his throat, his eyes wide with astonishment. No one had considered - he hadn’t even let _himself_ consider - Sam exhaled slowly and rested his forehead against Jess’. “You don’t have to ask, Jess. You, of all people…” He wanted to say he knew Jess would never hurt him, she loved him, but he’d have once said the same about Dean, too. “Thank you.”

Jess simply smiled softly and carded her fingers through Sam’s hair.

* * *

 

Dean slammed his book shut, taking a long drink from his handy bottle of Jack Daniels. Another dead end.

The table in front of him was littered with books and notepads, Sam’s tight scrawl staring up at him like a condemnation. It should have been _him_ , dammit, what had he been _thinking_ letting Sammy go through with the ritual? Had the Trials taught him _nothing_? Things didn’t go smoothly for them, _of course_ the energy of the ritual would yank Sam right out of the physical plane and into wherever the Hell he wound up.

And Dean had stood by and let it happen.

Stupid.

Failure.

God, what a mess.

Cas was of no use, either. He had disappeared off to do angel-things and chase down his own leads on finding Sam and getting him back, leaving Dean alone in the silence of the bunker. He would kill for his little brother’s soft breathing right about now, or that weird four-beat tap he did when he got engrossed in his reading. He never even realised he did it, either; every time Dean asked about it, he’d have a completely blank look on his face.

Dean clenched his jaw and pulled another book towards him. He was going to fix this. He was going to save his little brother.

* * *

 

“I missed you,” Jess admitted, leaning against Sam’s shoulder as they sat on the grass of the quad where they had first met. The grass was green and soft beneath their fingers, the sun warm but not burning. It was idyllic, and if it weren’t for the lack of other students milling about, Sam could pretend he was twenty again, just starting his relationship with the most beautiful girl on campus.

Sam looked down at her curiously, “It’s Heaven, Jess. You’re supposed to be completely happy here.”

“How can I be completely happy without my happy ending?”

That was right. Sam wasn’t the only one running from something at Stanford. Just as much as Jess was supposed to be his happily ever after, he was supposed to be hers, too.

“I had memories of you,” Jess replied, “And for most people that would be enough. But I think there was something in the way I died… I kept wanting more. Not just my memories, but _you_. And then…”

Jess trailed off, picking at the grass.

“Jess?” Sam prodded gently, rubbing her arm soothingly. “What is it? You know you can tell me.”

Jess looked up at him. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“... What am I supposed to remember?”

“You were here before, Sam.”

Sam frowned. “What, with Zachariah?”

Jess shook her head. “No, before that - seven years ago.”

Sam’s thoughts drifted back through the past several years - and then screeched to a halt.

Seven years ago, he was stabbed in the back at Cold Oak.

Seven years ago, he died.

Jess knew as soon as Sam realised the truth, and sat up to face him.

“Seven years ago - when I died - and Dean - I came _here_?!”

“Is that really so hard for you to believe?” Jess asked softly.

Sam shook his head in denial. “I - my blood was _tainted_ , Jess. They would have never let me in here.”

“They who? The angels? They don’t have control over the souls of the dead who come to Heaven - who have a _right_ to be here. You know that, that’s why you undertook the ritual in the first place.”

Sam shook his head again. “I don’t have a - a right to be here, Jess. And I definitely didn’t seven years ago. I was…” Sam clenched his fists, staring at the ground. “I was… unclean. Tainted. I wouldn’t have had the right to be in Heaven.”

“Seven years ago, you were a good, kind man who had only ever wanted to help people. You saved lives, Sam!” Jess’ gaze grew distant as she unfurled Sam’s fist and linked her fingers with his. “I remember when you showed up, you were so confused. You couldn’t believe you were here. You were so _happy_ to see me, that’s when I finally woke up from that dream world… when I finally realised that you hadn’t been here with me all along.”

Jess looked down at their interlinked hands and raised her eyes in a silent question. Sam squeezed back in response. Jess pressed a kiss to the backs of Sam’s fingers before continuing, “And then you were gone, and all I could do was watch.”

Sam felt the blood drain away from his face.

Jess… _watched_?

She saw all the things he had done, his mistakes - _Ruby, the demon blood, the Apocalypse_ -

“All I could do was watch as the world tore you down,” Jess murmured, “I couldn’t reach you, I couldn’t _help_ you - I couldn’t even see you in the Cage -”

“I wouldn’t want you see that,” Sam replied immediately, “I wouldn’t wish the Cage on anyone.”

“Except yourself.”

Sam didn’t answer, and Jess returned to cuddling against him. Sam’s hold on her was loose, as if he was afraid to hold her, as if he was giving her a way out.

“You didn’t deserve it, Sam.”

“I started the Apocalypse,” Sam replied hoarsely, “It was only right that I finish it.”

“As I recall, it was _Dean_ who broke the First Seal.”

“That wasn’t his fault!” Sam protested immediately, “He was in _Hell_ , Jess, because of me, and he was _tortured_ -” Sam broke off, shaking his head.

“You didn’t deserve it, Sam,” Jess repeated, “I watched it all, remember? I saw the way the angels were leading Dean around by the nose just as much as the demons were manipulating you. You didn’t deserve any of the shit that’s been piled on you throughout your life -”

“ _Jess_ -”

“ - And I will repeat that every day until you believe me. You didn’t deserve to go to Hell. You did not deserve to lose your soul, or have it forced back in you without your consent. You didn’t deserve to be castigated for events beyond your control, for struggling to rebuild your life after Dean went to Purgatory. You have made your mistakes and you have _paid for them_. You didn’t deserve to feel _impure_ because you’re _not_ , you are the most amazing man I know, you are a _hero_ , and I will _tell you this everyday_ until you realise it, too!”

Sam’s breath stuttered as Jess finished her impassioned speech. His body was tense, like tightly strung piano wire, and his eyes were wide with a touch of panic. Jess lifted their entwined hands and rested hers against Sam’s cheek.

There was something wet against his fingers - was that him?

“... I’m crying,” he murmured. “I haven’t cried in - in -”

Jess smiled sadly. “I know, baby.”

“I can’t stay here forever, Jess.”

“I know.”

“I want to - I want to -” It had been so long since he let himself _want_ anything, and right now, all he wanted was to stay here with Jess, stay here in this little slice of Heaven, and _rest_.

“But you’re here on a mission,” Jess finished softly.

Sam nodded against her hand. “I’m supposed to get the lay of the land, find the switch Metatron flipped to shut the gates of Heaven. Cas gave me a bit of a road map, but he’s an angel, and his perception of Heaven is different thanks to his grace.”

“Is it wrong of me to wish you didn’t have to? Because once you’re done, you’ll go back to Earth.”

Sam leaned into Jess’ touch. Once he was done, he’d go back to Earth. Back to Dean, and the suffocating tension in the bunker. Back to simmering anger and passive-aggressive sniping and not feeling _safe_ , wondering every time he woke up if there would be another chunk of time he couldn’t account for, another change to his body he wasn’t expecting.

“I don’t want to,” Sam blurted out before he could stop himself, “What Dean did to me - I can’t - I love my brother, but I can barely stand _being in the same room_ as him right now. I’m _so_ _tired_ , Jess, I just want to _rest_.”

Sam closed his eyes in revulsion as he finished speaking, hating himself for being so weak. There were people in danger, Dean and Cas were counting on him - how could he be so _selfish_?

“You’re not selfish, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes snapped open.

“I know that look on your face.” Jess caressed Sam’s cheek one last time, before returning their hands to her lap, idly stroking Sam’s knuckles. “You remember Kelsey? Lived down the block from us?”

“Kelsey with the jackass boyfriend whose nose I broke? Yeah…”

“And remember how many nights Kelsey spent on our couch before he got expelled?”

“... Yeah…”

“Was she selfish?”

“No! Of course not!” Sam replied immediately, horrified. “But that - it’s not the same, Jess. It can’t be -”

“What Dean did to you was wrong, Sam,” Jess returned gently, her voice low but unwavering, “Uninformed consent is not consent at all. And he had no right to lie to you and gaslight you for months after.”

It was everything he had needed to hear since he kicked Gadreel out of his body. Everything no one else had allowed him to think.

“He didn’t,” Sam rasped hoarsely, his head falling forward to rest against Jess’. “He _didn’t_.”

He was going to wind up crying into her hair.

“You’re allowed to be angry,” Jess continued, disentangling her fingers and reaching up to stroke Sam’s hair. “You’re allowed to feel hurt, and sad, and angry, and no one can tell you to forgive until you’re ready.”

Sam’s shoulders shuddered, and yeah, there were the tears again.

“Let it out, baby,” Jess soothed, “Just let it out.”

* * *

 

“Dean.”

Dean jerked upright, scrambling backwards and nearly tipping over his chair as he registered Castiel’s face hovering over his own.

“Dammit, Cas! We’ve talked about this, personal space!”

“I apologize,” Castiel replied, “But I have news.”

Dean straightened, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "What news?"

"There is an old peri-angelic ritual that may be of use in reaching Sam."

Dean stared at his friend. "An old what now?"

"Peri-angelic. Pertaining to angels and those who know of them, but but not wholly angelic in nature -"

Dean raised a hand. "Okay, okay, I got it. So, what's this ritual?"

"It is similar to the ritual Sam used..."

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming."

"... But there is a time limit."

Dean's eyes widened. "What kind of time limit?"

"The ritual must be conducted within twenty-four hours of the soul being... displaced."

Dean looked down at his watch. He'd only been asleep two hours, and had been researching about seven before that. There was time. He didn't want to imagine what would have happened if Cas hadn't returned when he did; Sam was counting on him, and he was sleeping on the job.

"Alright," Dean said abruptly, standing and stretching, "Let's get to it."

* * *

 

"So tell me about Heaven."

Jess looked down at Sam, smiling fondly. They were in the living room of their apartment at Stanford, with Jess sitting on the couch and Sam laying across it, his head in her lap. Jess' feet were propped up on their coffee table, and Sam's feet were hanging over the other end of the couch.

Jess carded her fingers through his hair. "What do you want to know?"

"How did you... wake up? Keep an eye on me? How do you know Metatron can't find us?"

Jess laughed, and Sam grinned in response. "You've got a list in your head, don't you? Okay, I'll walk you through what I know. Like I said, I woke up when you came here seven years ago."

"I thought everyone had their own Heaven?"

"That's more like the... default setting. When you get to Heaven, your soul goes to sleep, cocooned in all your best memories. Sometimes souls wake up. Best as we can tell, it's either the really old souls, or the ones who left something behind on Earth - but weren't tied to it enough to make them a vengeful spirit."

"I saw you once," Sam confessed, "It was a couple weeks after you died, I saw you on a street corner as Dean and I were driving by after a hunt..."

Jess blinked. "Wait, that was real? I thought I made that up!"

Sam looked up at her curiously.

"I remembered it after I woke up," Jess explained, "And after I'd started watching you. I thought it was just my own imagination..."

Sam chuckled. "And here I was thinking you had all the answers."

Jess swatted at Sam's arm. "God's the only who has all the answers, sweetie."

Sam's smile fell away. "God's not in the house, Jess."

"Not exactly..." Jess sighed. "It all ties into what Heaven _is_ , y'know? And what God is.”

“... Okay…?”

“I’m sure you’re aware that the Bible has been translated and mistranslated a bazillion times into and out of English,” Jess began, “But there are some verses that don’t change between translations, and have stood the test of time. 1 John 4:8 ends with the phrase “God is love” which is pretty consistent throughout all translations and is probably the most basic definition the English language can manage - you’re already lost, aren’t you?”

“Jess, I majored in Public Policy, not Celestial Metaphysics.”

“Oh, I _wish_ Stanford had offered a course in Celestial Metaphysics,” Jess replied wistfully, “But anyway. What was that thing Castiel said - ‘multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent’ - think of God like that, except… more.”

“So when you say ‘God is love’...”

“I mean, God _is_ love. Like, we think of Him as some concrete entity with magical powers, but it’s more than that. I mean, He can be, being God and all. He’s everywhere, in everything. When you love someone, He’s there. I guess you could say, God’s the soul of the Universe, except even that doesn’t cover it right - there just aren’t any words in the English language that are adequate. So when the angels are saying He left? They’re talking about one aspect of Him. The one that appears in some physical form and talks to them, I’d guess.”

“Do the angels know that?”

“Maybe? They might not even realise they’re mistranslating in English. I mean, if I can figure this stuff out in my time here, they should know it, too, right?”

Sam’s lips twisted. “Well, angels are more prone to following orders than thinking and exploring on their own.” Sam reached up for her free hand and held it against his chest, smiling at her grin. “So, how does the nature of God tie into Heaven and Metatron?”

“Right. So, I guess the first thing is that Heaven isn’t a place, like God isn’t a concrete entity. Our minds and souls process it so that we think there’s physical space to move around in, but really, Heaven isn’t a place where souls are stored, it _is_ the souls.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “So, like the difference between a church and the Church?”

“Oh! Kinda, yeah. Except more complicated, because we’re literally pushing the boundaries of human comprehension here. We’re just not designed to fully understand it, I think.”

Sam scoffed lightly. “Yeah, I can feel the headache building.”

Jess smiled and Sam reciprocated, the appearance of his dimples making her smile wider. “As for how I could see you - it’s all about _intent_. I _wanted_ to see you, and because this is Heaven, and seeing you would make me happy, and was an expression of my love, I could. I think. As far as any of us have been to figure out, anyway.”

“ ‘Any of us?’”

Jess nodded. “I’m not the only awakened soul in Heaven. Some wake up on their own, others are woken up by angels, and others are woken up by other souls. None of us _want_ to be found by Metatron, and he doesn’t want to find us, so we’re safe and hidden away from him. Metatron doesn’t care about the souls here, not really. He wants to remake Heaven in his own image. The sleeping souls don’t really care one way or the other, but the rest of us? We’re not thrilled about it. We like Heaven the way it is.”

Sam’s expression was a mix of disbelief and hope. “So, what, there’s a resistance of souls in Heaven, right under Metatron’s nose?”

“Something like that.”

Sam sat up, his eyes glittering. “That’s - That’s _great_! How does it work? If you guys are in your own Heavens -”

“Intent, mostly,” Jess replied quickly, her lips quirking. “But it takes all of us focusing on the same goal - say, meeting together to talk - for it to work. It’s a lot of planning and hashing out ideas… we can’t really do much, yet, being just souls… no weapons, no spells that we know of…”

“It’s still something,” Sam replied strongly, and Jess grinned at the _hope_ threading his voice. “There must be Men of Letters up here, they might know something, if you can get through to them?”

Jess nodded. “We’re working on it. In fact… I think you should talk to them.”

Sam blinked. “Me?”

“Well, yeah. That’s the whole reason you came up here, right? What better way to figure out how to fight Metatron than with the active resistance?”

Before Sam could respond, the room around him wavered. He froze, eyes wide.

“Sam? What’s wrong?"

“... Did you see that?”

Jess’ brow furrowed. “See what, baby?”

The room wavered again, and Sam jolted, reaching out for Jess. She gasped when Sam touched her, and she saw the ripples around them. “... Oh!”

“What’s going on?” Sam demanded, shooting to his feet, “I thought we were supposed to be safe!”

“It’s not Metatron,” Jess assured him, standing beside him and clutching his arm, “I don’t feel him anywhere. I think… Sam, I think it’s because of _you_.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Me?” His expression smoothed out. “Dean.”

Jess looked at him consideringly. “That would explain why we didn’t get more time… Hold on.”

The world in front of them shifted, and Sam and Jess found themselves looking at an empty room in the bunker, with Dean and Castiel drawing sigils on the floor and walls.

“Whoa…” Sam glanced beside him and then over his shoulder - they were still in their apartment.

“Watching from Heaven can be a little… disorienting at first,” Jess explained, “Like watching 3D movies for the first time. Do you know what they’re doing?”

Sam crouched down to look at the sigils closest to him. “It looks like a modified peri-angelic summoning ritual, originally for injured soldiers. It’s Enochian, cobbled together pretty well.”

“You translated all that?”

Sam shrugged. “Five millennia with two archangels, you pick up a few things.”

“Sam,” Jess replied, admiration clear in her voice, “That’s amazing. _You’re_ amazing.”

Sam flushed. “Jess-”

“You _are_ \- ohmygosh!”

Sam and Jess lurched back as Cas started chanting, and the sigils rose up, reaching towards them.

Well, reaching towards Sam.

“Sam, what’s -”

Jess felt a surge of power flash through her as Sam _spoke_ , and the sigils froze in midair, hovering in their living room.

“... Sam?”

Sam watched warily for a moment as Dean joined Cas in the chanting, the last of the sigils in place. “I… basically hit pause, I think - no, don’t touch them!”

Jess, who had been reaching out for one of the glowing symbols, stilled and looked at her boyfriend curiously.

“Right now, there’s basically an open channel between us and them. If you touch it, the spell will reactivate and pull you through.”

“Even though it’s meant for you?”

Sam nodded, his gaze flicking over the symbols. “Yeah. None of the symbols specify me; I’m pretty sure the spell only found us because of Dean’s intent. Since we’re both here, it wouldn’t make a difference who touched it.”

Jess’ head tilted slightly as she considered the floating sigils.

“That look on your face usually means trouble, Jess.”

“Let me go back,” the blonde replied.

Sam’s jaw dropped slightly. “Wha - Jess, no, we have no idea what could happen!”

“Technically, we have no idea what could happen if you went back, either,” Jess pointed out. “You still have a lot to do in Heaven, don’t you?”

Sam’s lips twisted. “Well, yeah… Why do you want to go back, anyway? You’re already in Heaven.”

“Your brother and I need to have a talk.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Jess. _No_.”

Jess looked at him innocently. “What, Sam? Dean won’t hurt me.”

Sam snorted. “That is the _least_ of my worries.”

Jess grinned impishly. “You don’t think little ol’ me is going to do any damage, do you?”

“ _I_ wasn’t the one Kelsey’s boyfriend was so afraid of.”

Jess’ grin widened at the memory.

Sam shook his head. “If you go back, and the spell ends, then we’ll be stuck. You on Earth, and me in Heaven. That’s not how it’s supposed to be, Jess.”

Jess looked between Sam and the floating sigils. “Can you change it? Can you change the spell?”

Sam’s brow furrowed.

“You were able to stop the spell without _trying_ by saying one word,” Jess continued, “Maybe you can do more!”

Sam inhaled deeply, straightening up. “Uh, okay… No harm in trying, right?”

Jess felt power rush through her again as Sam spoke, the words tumbling over her like summer rain. Several new sigils carved themselves into the air, pulsing gently.

Hot damn, her boyfriend was amazing.

“That should do it, I think,” Sam said at length, “I opened up a temporary channel - you’ll be able to go back and forth, and it won’t close until I finally cross back to Earth. Hopefully.”

Sam looked at Jess askance. “... What?”

" _You_. You're so amazing, you don't even realise."

Sam looked away, flushing again. "Jess..."

Jess squeezed his hand reassuringly. "It's okay if you don't believe me now. I'll just have to keep working at it."

Sam cleared his throat. "So, the resistance. How do I find them?"

"I think it'd be best if you start with your Mom."

Sam's jaw dropped. "My - My _Mom_ is part of the resistance?!"

"After everything her sons have done to fight evil, did you really think she was going to sit by quietly?"

Sam stared at Jess, eyes wide with shock, his heart racing with a mix of hope and anxiety. He could count the times he'd seen his mother on his fingers with some to spare.

Jess smiled and tugged him towards the door. "Keep your mind focused on her."

She opened the door and Sam saw what looked like someone's backyard - definitely not the corridor that was supposed to be outside their apartment. "Is that - is she -"

"She's waiting for you."

Sam steeled himself, breathing deeply.

He stepped out.

Jess smiled softly, nodding encouragingly. "And Sam? When you're ready to ask, my answer's yes."

Sam shot her a confused glance and Jess smiled to herself. He didn't understand yet, didn't remember. Didn't remember that she'd told him she'd found the ring and he'd laughed and gotten on one knee, halfway through his proposal when Dean had pulled him back to Earth, before she could say yes.

She wasn't going to let him go without _knowing_ , this time.

Jess turned back to the sigils glowing in her living room and stretched out her hand.

* * *

 

When it came down to it, Dean expected obstacles in his attempt to retrieve Sam. The ritual was cobbled together and untested, and they had no idea why the _first_ ritual had gone wrong to begin with.

So yeah, he expected plenty of obstacles.

Jessica Moore punching him in the face hard enough to knock him off his feet was not one of them.

“Hello, Dean,” the blonde cooed, her voice sickly sweet and laden with seven different kinds of danger, “It’s time we had a chat.”

“... _The Hell?!_ ”

“Wrong side of the afterlife -” Jess turned sharply towards Castiel, Dean’s angel blade glinting in her hand, “Wait your turn, Feathers. You’re next on my list.”

_When the Hell had she gotten Dean’s angel blade?!_

Dean realised he’d spoken aloud when Jess turned back to him, looking distinctly unimpressed. “The downside of me having died a few days after you met me is that Sam never got around to mentioning that my Daddy was ex-special forces and had me in martial arts the moment I could walk.”

Dean picked himself up, slightly gratified to see he was still taller than her. “Where’s Sam?” he demanded.

“Sam was in your Heaven,” Cas replied before Jess could. “The ritual somehow pulled you to Earth instead of him.”

Jess nodded. “He’s safe. Possibly happy, for the first time in years.”

“How do we get him back?” Dean continued, ignoring her.

Jess’ eyebrows rose. “Oh, Dean. You know how parents take away their kids’ toys when they don’t treat them right? Yeah, you’re not getting Sam back until I know you’re not going to break him again.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “Who the Hell do you think you are?!”

“The love of Sam’s life, who’s been watching over him from Heaven for the past seven years,” Jess replied bluntly, daring Dean to challenge her.

Dean’s jaw clenched as he forced down his anger and tried to process that his little brother’s _dead girlfriend_ was standing in front of him. If she had been watching - never mind, he didn’t want to think about what it meant that she had been “watching over” Sam.

Also, _damn_ , did she have a _mean_ right hook.

“I do not understand how the ritual brought you here,” Castiel said, trying to steer the conversation to safer waters. “It should have been specifically targeted at Sam.”

“Only by Dean’s intent,” Jess replied, “None of your sigils are specific to Sam.”

“What, you read Enochian now?” Dean groused.

Jess shook her head. “No, Sam does. He paused the spell when it got to Heaven, and then tweaked it, so that it would maintain an open channel between the Earth and Heaven, until he decided to come back and close it permanently.”

Dean and Castiel stared at her.

Jess grinned. “For the record? My boyfriend’s pretty amazing.”

“That shouldn’t be possible…”

“He _tweaked the spell_?” Dean demanded, his rage spiking again. “So he could stay in Heaven longer?”

What the Hell was _wrong_ with Sam? He had responsibilities here - he had a _life_ \- and he was just going to throw it all away? How could Sam just abandon him, after everything they’d been through -

“I’d think very carefully about what comes out of your month next, Dean,” Jess said coldly, watching the emotions roll across Dean’s face. “Because I wasn’t kidding when I said Sam doesn’t come back until you’ve proven you won’t break him again.”

“I didn’t _break_ my brother!” Dean spat, “I _saved his life_!”

“You metaphorically held him down while your angel friend raped him for a couple months, lied to him, let your angel friend wipe his mind so much he was questioning his sanity again, because that went over so well for everyone last time, and for the record - the whole non-consensual possession, mind-rape, and sticking needles in his brain thing is in violation of the UN Convention against Torture and Other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment, so congratulations on that!”

Jess was practically vibrating with anger and Dean went white. “You have no right -”

“I have _every_ right, because newsflash - _you don’t have the monopoly on loving Sam_.”

Castiel stepped forward and Jess’ attention switched to him. “Didn’t I tell you to stay where you are?”

“Why are you here, Jessica?”

Dean felt a rush of gratitude towards his friend and glanced around to locate his gun. Girlfriend or no, if Jess kept them from Sammy, she was getting pumped full of rock salt.

“To make sure Sam had somewhere safe to return to when he finished his work in Heaven,” Jessica replied. “It was the least I could do after everything he’s done.”

“The bunker’s the safest place on Earth,” Dean replied immediately.

“Technically, I think Disneyland’s the safest place on Earth; the one in Orlando’s built on hallowed ground, and Disney’s Global Intelligence and Security department is better at their jobs than the CIA and the Department of Defense put together -” Jess cut herself off abruptly, as if surprised at her own words, and shook her head. “Never mind. My point is, the bunker might be physically safe - might - but it sure isn’t emotionally safe.”

Dean bit back a scoff. “ ‘Emotionally safe.’ Right. Look, Sammy knows I don’t go in for that feel-good Dr. Phil crap, but I would never hurt him!”

Jess stared at Dean. “... Do you hear yourself when you talk, or is there just a big roaring noise between your ears?”

“Hey!” Dean crossed his arms. “Look, whatever Sam and I say to each other is between me and him, alright? It’s none of your business.”

“Given that when you two keep things between yourselves, my boyfriend winds up depressed, verging on suicidal -”

“I saved him from that once, I’ll do it again if I have to!”

Jess’ eyebrows rose into her hairline. “Lord, grant me patience - Dean, you don’t “save” someone from suicidal ideation by taking the knife out of their hands, you save them by validating them, giving them hope and the will to live so that they _don’t want the knife_. And your track record when it comes to validating your brother is pretty terrible.”

“That’s not true!”

Jess snorted and crossed her arms. “Would you like me to list my evidence alphabetically, or chronologically?”

Dean clenched his fists. Who was she to tell him _anything_? He loved his brother more than life, more than anything in the world, and if she couldn’t see that, that was on her, not him. “Just give Sammy back.”

“He’s in Heaven, completing the mission you sent him on,” Jess pointed out, “But this wouldn’t be the first time you took Sam away from Heaven, would it?”

Dean frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Think about it, I’m sure it’ll come to you - don’t answer for him, Feathers.”

Dean turned to Castiel, whose expression was lost and sorrowful. “I had no idea - I never knew -”

“I’m not surprised.” Jess’ lips twisted sadly. “Everyone was busy gearing up for the Apocalypse back then. Wouldn’t have been good propaganda to say the Abomination made it into Heaven when he died, right?”

Dean felt the breath leave him. He remembered Sam’s death, the real one that had started the downward slide of their lives. Remembered feeling lost and alone and _Oh God not Sammy please not Sammy no_ … and he had been in Heaven?

Jess’ voice was distant. “I had him in my arms, _finally_ …” Jess turned her sharp gaze back on Dean. “And then you pulled him away from me.”

Dean felt like he might be sick. “He’s my brother. I couldn’t let him - I love him, you understand? I would do _anything_ for him - I went to _Hell_ for him!”

“You were selfish,” Jess insisted calmly, “And you even admitted it back then. And the Hell card doesn’t work so much when Sam went to Hell for five millennia. Or did you forget that part?”

“Of course not!”

Of course he hadn’t forgotten, how could he ever forget Lucifer and Stull Cemetery? One of the first conversations he and Sam _had_ after the Apocalypse was about his time in the Cage.

Jess took in Dean’s mulish expression and shook her head. “You still don’t get it, do you? All this time, and you still don’t get it.”

Dean’s lips curled slightly in bitterness. “What’s there to get? Sammy’s up in Heaven, and you’re here to tell me what a terrible brother I am. Well, you did your job. Great. Guess you both can go back to playing happy families in your little corner of the Universe.”

Jess pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sam has the patience of a _saint_ to deal with you, you know that? Seriously, he should be canonized for this.”

Dean snorted. “Well, sorry I’m so much _trouble_ for you and Sam to deal with.”

Jess raised a hand. “Let me stop you right there, because if the next words out of your mouth are anything along the lines of Sam not loving you, I will break your nose.”

Dean pressed his lips together in a thin line.

Jess’ jaw dropped slightly. “Oh my - you were really going to say something like that. How - how could you even _think that_ , Dean?!”

Dean thought of a year in Purgatory and ‘ _Everything that has ever gone wrong between us has been because we’re family_ ’ and ‘ _No, Dean, I wouldn’t_ ’ and felt the back of his throat burn. He needed a drink. Or ten.

“The year you were in Purgatory,” Jess started, her voice thick with remembered fear and sorrow, “The year that you so resent him for - he would pull out his gun and night and stare at it, wondering if it would take him to you.”

Dean felt his blood run cold.

“All I could do was watch,” Jess continued, her eyes bright and wet, “And pray that he would hold on for one more day. Just one. That he would stumble upon something to give his life meaning again.”

Jess’ gaze bore into Dean. “You want to tell me he doesn’t love you? How about all the times he’s saved your life? How about the fact that he overcame _Lucifer_ for you? How about playing poker for your life and _winning_ , how about the year he spent trying to save you from Hell, the deals he tried to make to bring you back? How about the fact that he always comes back to you, no matter how much you hurt him?”

Jess stepped towards him and Dean felt unmoored and adrift, wondering if he was ever going to have control of this conversation again. “Did you even _listen_ back at the church? He loves you so much that _he would rather die_ than let you down again. He loves and trusts you so much that he made you the cornerstone of his reality - and _you took that away from him_ , do you get that?”

Dean remembered stitches on Sam’s palm and ‘ _Stone Number One_ ’ and thought he might be sick again. "I was trying to save his life."

"This isn't about that, Dean. It's not even about whether you love Sam, because everyone knows you do. It's about respect and trust, neither of which you have for Sam. It's about Sam's right to his own body. It's about realising that Sam is his own person, and not your _possession_ or an extension of you."

"That's not - I don't -"

"Dean, you _forgot that Castiel needed consent to possess Sam_. After everything that happened with the Apocalypse, Feathers had to _remind_ you that he needed consent, at which point you turned to a demon, one you don't even trust and allowed him to violate Sam, too. Tell me you get how wrong that is, because if you don't, you're an even bigger danger to Sam than before."

Dean's jaw worked. He knew, okay? He knew how messed up it was that Crowley had to possess Sam to kick Gadreel out. He couldn't even be in the same room when Crowley was poking holes in his little brother's skull, _he knew_. But he'd run out of options. "I didn't have a choice."

“You could have _asked_.”

“Sam would never have said yes to another angel.”

“He didn’t,” Jess countered, stabbing her finger into Dean’s chest, “He said yes to _you_. He stopped the Trials for _you_. Sam would do anything _you_ asked him to.”

Jess poked him in the chest every time she said ‘you’ and every time, Dean felt like he was being shot. Dean grabbed her wrist to force her to stop. “What do you _want_ from me, Jess?”

Jess’ lips thinned and she sighed softly. “It’s not about what I want, Dean. It’s about what _Sam needs_ , and if you can’t figure that out -”

“Then just tell me!” Dean interrupted, his voice raw, “Enough with the mind games, alright? Just tell me what I’m supposed to know!”

“You need to apologise, Dean! You betrayed Sam, you hurt him in one of the worst ways possible, and then you told him you’d do it _again_!”

“I couldn’t just let him die!”

Jess made an aborted noise, somewhere between a hiss and a shriek, her eyes flashing. “Grow _up_ , you - freaking manchild! _This is not about that_! You need to understand that what you did was _wrong_ , and you _cannot do it again_ , no matter how desperate you are. Because if there is even a hint that you would put Sam through the past several months of Hell again, you are as much of a danger to him as Lucifer ever was, and _he will never come back_.”

There was a loud ringing in Dean’s ears and he stumbled back from Jess. What was it - was there some kind of alarm going off? He glanced at Cas and realised it was him, the ringing was just in his head.

_He will never come back._

“Whatever,” Dean bit out tersely, “I don’t need to listen to this.”

Jess’ face was impassive as Dean stumbled out of the room, and she turned to Castiel.

He really should have expected the fist to his nose.

“Was that really necessary?” the angel asked, hand pressed up against his nose.

“Oh, you better believe it, you miserable bag of hypocrisy,” Jess snarled, her eyes flashing in rage, “Let’s talk.”

* * *

 

Sam turned away from the closed door and looked around the backyard slowly. It was medium-sized, with freshly-mowed grass and flowers and a small patio, with a table and chairs.

Sam swallowed.

Mary Winchester smiled warmly, pushing back her chair and standing up. “Hello, Sam.”

“... Mom…”

Mary reached out for him and the next thing Sam knew, he was wrapped in her arms, clinging to her tightly.

“Hi, Mom,” he muttered into her hair, wondering how he was ever supposed to let go.

She was his mother. Here, in his arms. How was he supposed to step away, when the last time - the last time, she hadn’t heard him. The last time, only Dean had the privilege of speaking to her, listening to her, interacting with her. This was the woman who died for him, not the young one who was trying to get out of the life, who was still figuring out what it meant to love John. This was the woman his father ruined his childhood for, the woman Dean loved. This was the woman he’d only really seen as a hallucination born from his drug-addled mind, and a spirit before that.

This was his mother.

How was he ever supposed to let her go?

“My baby boy…” Mary murmured, reaching up to cup her hands around his face, “You grew up so big.”

Sam smiled and laughed weakly, leaning into her touch. “I ate all my vegetables.”

“You sure did,” Mary agreed, smiling fondly, “I’m so proud of you, Sam.”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat. “I -”

“No, you listen to me, Samuel Matthew Winchester - _I am proud of you_. You saved the world, son. And then you got back up and kept saving people. Any mother would be proud to have a son like you.”

Sam shook his head. “I’ve made so many mistakes - I thought you’d be disappointed…”

“Never, Sam.”

He’d waited years to hear her say that. He’d spent years thinking he never would.

“I love you, Mom,” Sam blurted out, his voice thick. If he didn’t say it now, he might ever get the chance again.

Mary beamed, hugging him tightly and kissing his cheek - _his mother kissed his cheek, how many times had he dreamed about that, wondering if she would_ \- and replying, “I love you, too, darling.”

Mary linked her arm with Sam’s, turning them back towards the house - the door no longer resembling anything from his apartment. “Let’s go inside, the cookies will be getting cold.”

Sam blinked as he fell into step beside her. “Mom, what - cookies?”

“Sugar cookies,” Mary affirmed, “Jess mentioned you liked them.”

The thought of his girlfriend and his mother talking - _about him_ \- sent a rush of warmth through Sam’s chest and he smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, Jess used to make hers with cinnamon. She couldn’t cook to save her life, you know, but she could _bake_.”

“Stress baker?” Mary asked amusedly, leading Sam to the kitchen.

“Uh, yeah. Totally. Our apartment would smell of cookies Weeks 3, 6, and 9, like clockwork. She’d bust out the cake during Hell Week and Finals Week.”

Mary gestured for Sam to sit, pushing a plate of cookies towards him, saying wryly, “I have no idea what you just said.”

Sam laughed, biting into one of the cookies. They were warm, firm on the outside, and soft in the center. And sweet. Really, really sweet. “Mmm… Stanford ran on a quarter system, y’know? Eleven weeks per Quarter, Breaks in between. The science majors all had unit exams Weeks 3, 6, and 9. Week 10 was Hell Week because _everything ever_ was due in every class and you had to study for finals _and_ still go to class, and Week 11 was Finals Week, but there was no class. We pretty much lived on baked goods and coffee and Red Bull, and then slept for, like, forty-eight hours after our last final.”

Mary smiled fondly. “Jess was a science major?”

Sam nodded. “Bio major, minor in Political Science. I was a Liberal Arts major - Public Policy - so I only had midterms and finals. Lots of essays to write in the middle, though. So much writing.”

Sam gave a mock shudder and Mary chuckled, reaching out to tousle his hair. As the strands slipped through her fingers, she commented, “You need a haircut, sweetheart.”

Sam sputtered. “ _Mom_!”

The faint not-really-a-whine in his voice tore out of his throat without his say-so, as if this was _normal_ , as if he he was someone who had a mother that fussed over him and constantly thought his hair was too long, like - like Molly Weasley did to her sons. His mother, who had been as real to him as Molly Weasley, was actually fussing over him, and Sam couldn’t stop the disbelieving laughter from bubbling up.

Mary’s smile was tinged with sorrow as she squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “So. Tell me about Jess.”

Sam’s eyes widened slightly. “Jess? You two have met, right?”

“Sure,” Mary agreed, “But I want to hear it from you. How’d you two meet?”

Sam’s expression grew fond as he bit into another cookie, relishing the burst of flavour. “We actually lived on the same floor Freshman Year. We both started early, in the summer. I was taking classes, and she was there for a pre-Freshman research program. Campus was pretty empty then, so we saw each other around a lot, but we didn’t start talking until towards the end of Fall Quarter. I got a job at one of the campus libraries, and she came by a lot to study. We didn’t really start talking until I helped her track down a book for her Intro to Poli Sci class…”

Dimly, Sam remembered that he was on a time limit, that there was a mission he was on, but he hadn’t talked about Jess in years. Dean had never asked, and he hadn’t always been in a place where he _could_ talk about her, but now the words were tumbling out. He wanted to tell his mother about their first date, about Jess’ passion and the way her eyes lit up when she started ranting. He wanted to tell her about Jess’ habit of wandering around with her lab goggles on her head on the days she had chemistry lab, and the debates she’d had with him over current events and the finer points of Lord of the Rings.

Mary’s smile was affectionate and indulgent as Sam spoke, launching into stories about not just Jess, but all the friends he’d made and his classes and his job and even if half of what he said went over her head, she could tell he needed to say it. She could see the life unfurling in his eyes the more he spoke, hope suffusing his limbs again.

It was Heaven - until a strident male voice called out, “Mary? You in?”

Sam’s story about his dormmates panicking during a power outage screeched to a halt and he stiffened, his mirth draining away. He knew that voice.

Mary squeezed his hand reassuringly, replying, “In the kitchen!”

Sam heard footsteps behind him, but he couldn’t turn around, not yet.

The footsteps stopped, and the newcomer hesitated. “... Sam?”

Sam swallowed. At Mary’s encouraging nod, he turned around slowly. “Hi, Dad.”

John looked a little different than the last time Sam saw him - _a faded spirit walking out of Hell, a battered body lying dead on the hospital floor_ \- with shorter hair and less lines on his face. He was wearing a USMC T-shirt that Sam vaguely remembered from his early childhood and jeans, the dogtags Sam knew were in a storage locker on Earth hanging around his neck.

“It’s not your time, is it, son?”

“No, Sir.”

Sam’s blood pounded in his ears. He’d wished for so long that he could see his father one more time, to tell him that he loved him, that he _understood_ , that he forgave him - and now that he had the chance, the words were trapped in his throat, and all he could do was stare.

Yeah, he was really putting his Ivy League education to good use, there.

John broke their standoff first, striding forward. Sam automatically stood up, and found himself pulled into a strong embrace. “It’s good to see you, son.”

Sam laughed disbelievingly, his arms coming up after a moment to return the hug. “Are you sure you’re my Dad?”

John snorted and pulled away, and Sam recognised the expression on his face from all the times he’d back-talked as a kid. John’s expression melted into something softer, sadder, and he clasped Sam’s shoulders lightly before stepping back. “I deserve that.”

“Oh, that and more,” Mary muttered from behind them.

John’s gaze cut to her wryly, and Sam shook his head. “No - it’s -”

John sighed. “Don’t, Sam. I know I wasn’t the best father to you and Dean -”

“You were a shit father,” Sam blurted out, and then froze, horrified, because _no_ , that wasn’t what he wanted to say _at all_ , the whole point was _not_ to pick a fight with the man.

John simply inclined his head, replying, “I was. I was so caught up in my own grief and rage - what I put you boys through, even a hundred years in Hell aren’t enough to make up for.”

Sam shook his head, because he knew Hell, he knew worse than Hell, and he knew grief. “No, it’s not - you did the best you could, Dad. And I forgave you a long time ago.”

John gave him a crooked smile, filled with gratitude and pride. “You’re a better son than I could have ever hoped for, Sam.”

Sam laughed bitterly, rubbing his arm unconsciously. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew the mistakes I’ve made.” Also not what he planned to say, but his brain-mouth filter had apparently vanished. “You were right when you told Dean he’d have to kill me if he couldn’t save me.”

“Sam -”

“- My death would have saved a lot of trouble.”

“ _No_ , Sam.” John’s voice was firm and unyielding, the same voice with which he gave out orders and planned hunts. It was familiar and unexpected enough to give Sam pause. “We all make mistakes, son. And you’ve more than paid for yours. What I said to Dean - I shouldn’t have said that. I may have been right -”

“ _John Winchester_ -”

“ - Let me finish, Mary,” John continued, his gaze intent on Sam, “I may have been right to say that if you were a character in a movie, but you’re not. You’re my _son_. And despite my fear, despite how much I did wrong by you, you proved you were so much stronger. You refused to bow to Michael and Lucifer’s plans, and _you beat them_.”

Sam could feel the pressure building in his sinuses - all the words he’d needed to hear, all the words John could never say, were finally out in the open. “Dad -”

He didn’t realise he was pitching forward until he collided with John’s solid bulk, the older man’s hand warm and steady on the back of his neck. “Easy, son.”

“I love you, Dad,” Sam muttered into John’s shoulder, because if he didn’t say it now, he might never get the chance.

“I love you, too, Sammy,” John replied lowly, “I didn’t say it enough when I was alive - I love you, and I’m damn proud of you.”

Sam stilled, allowing the words to sink in, settling into his bones. If nothing else, at least he’d have this.

“Did you know?” he asked at length, processing his father’s words, “About Michael and Lucifer and - and me being…”

John shook his head, lips twisting into a frown. “I suspected that Lucifer was involved, but the Apocalypse? You and Dean being vessels? That I didn’t find out about until I got to Heaven.”

Sam's eyes widened and he retreated to his seat. John sat down on the stool beside him, reaching for a cookie.

Mary swatted his hand away with a dishcloth. "Hands off the cookies, mister."

John made a noise of mock affront. "I'm already dead, woman, I'm not suddenly contract diabetes from your sugar cookies."

“They’re for _Sam_.” Mary pointed a finger at him in warning, before turning to rummage in the fridge. John smirked mischievously and promptly swiped a cookie from the pile.

"I saw that, John!"

John's eyes widened and he hid his treat under the counter, attempting to look the picture of innocence. "You're not even looking in my direction, you didn't see a thing!"

"I'm a woman," Mary replied archly, turning back with a carton of juice, "I have eyes in the back of my head."

Sam bit down on a laugh as Mary shot John a completely unimpressed look and John returned a winsome grin, maintaining his façade of innocence. Mary shook her head, turning back to the cupboards and John grinned, biting into his cookie.

It hit Sam then, how _happy_ his father was, how at ease and steady he was, instead of stern and rigid as he used to be. John looked at Mary with such naked adoration in his gaze, and forgiveness sat that much easier in his chest.

“So, how did you find out about… everything? Were you watching?”

John shook his head. “Not exactly, no. The funny thing about dying is that when you die the second time around, you unlock memories from your first death - like being possessed by an archangel and the love of your life making a deal with a demon to resurrect you.”

Mary set down glasses on the counter, but instead of snapping at John, she interlinked her fingers with his. “Still not something I regret, John. We spent most of our time hiding from the angels, so that they couldn’t use us as weapons against you.”

“That’s why Ash couldn’t find you,” Sam realised.

Mary nodded, and John continued. “We watched when we could. Did a lot more watching recently.”

“You guys were together the whole time?”

Mary shook her head. “For a given value of ‘together’. We’re not… soulmates like you and Dean. Or even you and Jess.”

“Our souls aren’t cut from the same cloth,” John explained, “Not like you and your brother. And you and Jess are…”

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘absolutely adorable,’” Mary offered glibly.

John grunted. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Mary smirked. “He’s just sore because Jess punched him in the face.”

Sam’s eyes bugged out. “Jess did - _what_?!”

“Don’t worry, your father deserved it.”

John shot Mary a dirty look, but there was no bite behind it. “Girl’s got a mean right hook.”

“Yeah, she does -” Sam groaned and buried his head in his hands. “I can’t believe she did that!”

“She took issue with his parenting.”

John’s lips twisted wryly. “Girl’s a keeper, Sam.”

Sam flushed, unable to keep the grin stretching across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, she is.”

Sam felt a pang in his heart, that he was sitting here enjoying his parents’ company and talking about his girlfriend as if they were a normal family, while Dean was still on Earth, trying to find a way to fix his mess. He cleared his throat. “So, Jess said you were part of a resistance against Metatron?”

“Part of,” Mary replied with a nod, gesturing to herself, “Leading,” she finished, gesturing to John.

Sam’s eyebrows rose slightly, but he wasn’t exactly surprised. “Once a hunter, always a hunter, right, Dad?”

“Something like that. This is about more than hunting, Sam, it’s about responsibility and protecting what’s important. Not just for those of us who are awake and know what Metatron’s doing, but the ones that are asleep, too.”

Sam’s lips quirked. How many times had he heard a similar speech growing up? Some things never changed. “Alright, so catch me up.”

“Heaven’s all about intent,” John explained, “So to open the Gates from this side, we need our willpower to overcome Metatron’s. Ash and Henry have been working on a spell -”

“Wait, Henry, as in -”

“Pops? Yeah.” At Sam’s inquisitive look, John shrugged, “We talked.”

Sam managed a small smile. “That’s - that’s good. I’m glad you finally got to know the truth.”

“Henry’s got a wealth of knowledge - especially about spells tapping into the power of the soul. Not much we can do without the supplemental ingredients yet, though.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Your mother and I, Henry, Ash, Bobby, Ellen, Jess, some older Men of Letters, Jim… we’re still trying to wake up that Prophet, Kevin Tran, and a few other hunters…”

Sam felt relief slam into him so strongly, he missed John’s next few words about the other hunters they were trying to contact. “Kevin - Kevin’s here? He made it to Heaven?”

John inclined his head. “His soul’s asleep, but we should be able to get through to him soon.”

Sam shook his head. “No, Dad - leave him alone.”

John narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

Oh, Sam knew that tone. He squared his shoulders, looking John in the eye. “Leave him be, Dad. Kevin’s done enough - _suffered enough._ He deserves his rest.”

“He’s a Prophet of the Lord,” John countered, “He’s an asset we can’t afford to ignore.”

“He’s a _kid_. He’s done more, given up more than should ever have been required of him.”

Sam could feel his tension rising again. He knew this song and dance well, an unstoppable force meets an immovable object and the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

“John, if you boys start fighting, you’re going to be in the doghouse for the rest of eternity.”

… Except that before, they’d never had Mary Winchester.

Sam and John turned to Mary, who had her hands on her hips and was looking at them with raised eyebrows, thoroughly unimpressed.

John sent her a dour look, before sighing. “The kid’s a resource, and there’s every chance we’re going to need him.”

“And there’s every chance we won’t,” Sam replied firmly. He had a feeling his father wasn’t planning on backing down on waking up Kevin, but that just meant they needed to get the Gates of Heaven opened faster.

“I think it’s time head to the Roadhouse,” Mary suggested, “Let’s get the ball rolling.”

* * *

 

Dean’s head knocked against the wall lightly and he wished he had a glass of whiskey handy. He hadn’t made it very far after getting away from Jess, sinking to the ground in the hallway. He could hear her raised voice as she tore into Cas, but most of the words weren’t clear. She sounded even madder at the angel than she was at him.

Where did she get off, anyway?

How could she say those things -

_You metaphorically held him down while your angel friend raped him for a couple months_

_The whole non-consensual possession, mind-rape, and sticking needles in his brain thing_

_You're an even bigger danger to Sam than before_

_This wouldn’t be the first time you took Sam away from Heaven, would it?_

_He would rather die than let you down again_

_He will never come back._

It wasn’t true. It wasn’t. Sam would come back. He’d see that all Dean ever wanted was to protect him. He’d realise Dean never wanted to hurt him.

_Rape_

_Possession_

_Mind-rape_

_Danger_

No, it wasn’t like that, damn it! He hadn’t had a _choice_! Sam was alive now, that was what _mattered_.

_You didn't want to be alone, and that's what all this boils down to. You can't stand the thought of being alone._

Dean groaned and pressed the heels of his palms against his temples. Man, fuck this introspective bullshit. His baby brother was stuck on another plane of existence while his crazy pissed off girlfriend was shrieking down the hall. He had bigger problems to worry about.

_I was ready to die._

Dean pushed himself up with a growl. He needed to get his head back on straight, get back in the game. Dean strode back down the corridor, entering the room -

\- only to stop short as John Winchester flickered into existence.

“ _What the Hell?!_ ”

“Hello, Dean. Castiel.”

“John Winchester,” Castiel replied, and Dean vaguely registered that there was blood on his face.

“What the Hell is going on?” Dean demanded, wishing he had grabbed his gun before he left the room.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Jess replied, crossing her arms. “What are you doing, Corporal Rambo?”

John turned to her with a distinctly unamused expression. “Directed astral projection _correctly_ , for one thing, Jessica.”

Jess scowled at her full name, narrowing her eyes at John.

“Dad?” Dean cut in, sensing the brewing fight. The apparition looked like John Winchester, alright. A bit younger, maybe. But that shirt, those dog tags, that stance - there was no mistaking it. “How…”

John sent Jess a dour look. “Someone left a gaping portal open between Heaven and Earth. I think you’d best go back.”

Jess’ eyebrows rose, her expression affronted. “Well, _excuse me_ \- don’t pull the ‘are you questioning me, young lady’ face at me, you know I don’t respond to that.”

Dean could feel the unmoored, adrift sensation returning, as he watched Jess - who had never even met his Dad - stand there and and bicker with him.

“That wasn’t a request, Jessica,” John replied firmly, and Dean could feel himself straightening out of reflex. “Go back. Now.”

Jess’ eyes flashed angrily, before she threw up her hands. “You know what, I’ve expended all my emotional energy on Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber over there. I’m going to go back to my boyfriend, who is more intelligent than this room combined.”

Jess’ eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled to the ground, passing through John’s hands as he instinctively reached out for her.

“... What the Hell?!”

“It would appear that Jessica’s spirit has left her body,” Castiel replied to the Winchester men’s identical exclamations.

“We got that, thank you,” John replied dryly, “She’s not even supposed to _have_ a body.”

“Tell that to the bruise on my face,” Dean muttered.

John smirked. “Girl’s got a mean right hook, doesn’t she.”

“Yes, Sir,” Dean replied fervently, wincing as his jaw twinged. He swallowed, and asked, “How - _why_ are you here, Dad?”

John glanced at Jess’ prone form and shook his head. “I take it Jessica was too busy yelling at you to tell about Heaven’s resistance against Metatron.”

Dean and Castiel’s eyes widened. “There’s a resistance in Heaven?” the angel demanded, “But all the angels Fell.”

John quirked an eyebrow slightly. “Angels aren’t the only beings inhabiting Heaven.”

Castiel frowned. “All the human souls are asleep. They have no power.”

John sent him a look that clearly said ‘Do I look asleep to you?’ and replied, “Not all of us. Some of us have been awake for years, and we’re not really thrilled with what Metatron’s planning on doing with the place.”

“You - you’ve been in Heaven? Awake?” Dean asked, “All this time? Ash said he couldn’t find you…”

John nodded, his expression softening. “Your mother and I were a little… preoccupied at the time. It wasn’t safe for us to contact you.”

Dean looked at his father disbelievingly. “Wasn’t safe? It’s _Heaven_.”

“And with the Heavenly Host gearing up for the Apocalypse? Things were a little dicey for our family.”

Dean paled as he realised the implications of his father’s statement. If his father knew about the Apocalypse, then he knew about Michael and Lucifer and Dean’s long list of failures.

He must be so disappointed.

“I’m proud of you, Dean.”

… What?

“I know that look on your face,” John continued with a crooked smile, “You and your brother stood up against Michael, Lucifer, Heaven and Hell, spat in destiny’s face and saved the world. No matter what happened along the way, I’m proud of you.”

Dean swallowed, trying to make sure he was actually breathing. “Just, uh - just doing what you taught me to, Sir.”

“I know,” John replied with a nod, and turned to Castiel. “Castiel, how many angels are you in contact with?”

“A few,” the angel replied.

“More or less than twenty?”

“... Less,” Castiel admitted heavily.

The corners of John’s lips turned down. “Not what I was hoping for, but it’ll have to do. We - the resistance has been working on a spell to reopen the Gates and take care of Metatron. He’s the one holding the Gates shut, so without him, Heaven should reopen. But to work, it needs a lot of power an impetus on both sides of the Gates - Heaven and Earth. Sam’s presence in Heaven while still alive makes him a conduit - blood sigils here on Earth, combined with -”

John’s eyes widened and he stopped mid-sentence as a bright flash of light lit up the room.

Dean threw up his hands automatically, blinking as he lowered them when the light cleared. He inhaled sharply.

“Dad?!”

John was gone.

* * *

 

John reappeared in the Roadhouse to find Sam and Henry on the floor, groaning. Mary and Jess were at Sam’s side, helping him sit up, while Ash and Ellen were at Henry’s.

“What the Hell just happened?!”

Henry barely even turned his head in John’s direction, staring at Sam with wide eyes. “Sam… What…”

Sam tensed, knowing that the next words out of Henry’s mouth would be ‘are you?’ like so many others before him. He knew he was a freak, alright? Barely human and all that. He’d just hoped… that maybe he could go on pretending a little longer.

“Henry was trying to gauge the power of Sam’s soul,” Ash explained as Henry sat up. “Things got a little… explodey.”

John glanced between Henry and Sam, frowning. “And?”

“Sam…” Henry started, his voice dazed, “Your soul… it’s…”

“Mangled?” Sam replied tonelessly, “Yeah, perks of being Lucifer’s chew toy for five thousand years.”

Henry stiffened, alarmed. “No! No, Sam, you misunderstand - your soul… it’s _magnificent_.”

Sam looked at him sharply.

Henry shifted, growing more animated. “I’ve never seen a soul that powerful before. If your brother’s is anything like yours, there’s no way the spell can fail!”

Sam’s lips quirked, buoyed by Henry’s enthusiasm. Jess grinned and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. The others could hear her ‘I told you my boyfriend is awesome’ as if she’d spoken it aloud.

Ellen chuckled. “You Winchesters don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

John, Henry, and Sam smirked. “No. We don’t.”

“There is a downside, though,” Ash ventured, “With things getting explodey… it was kind of like a beacon. We don’t have long before Metatron finds us.”

The smiles dropped from everyone’s faces. John set his shoulders, turning to Sam. “Do you have the spell translation completely finished?”

“Yes, Sir,” Sam replied, standing. “We were able to incorporate the Higher Enochian -” Sam cut himself off, jaw clenching slightly and John knew it was from distaste using what he learned from Lucifer from his time in the Cage. “It’ll work.”

“Good.” John turned to Ash. “Contact the others and get the spell set up. I’ll take care of Dean and Castiel on Earth.”

Ash nodded and gave John a mock salute. “You got it, Boss-Man.”

John resisted the urge to roll his eyes and nodded to the others, turning to return to Earth.

* * *

 

“Timeline’s been moved up.”

Dean turned sharply at the voice, bringing his gun up at the ready.

John smirked slightly. “I’d rather you didn’t shoot me, Dean. Time’s of the essence.”

Dean lowered his weapon slightly. “Dad? How - what happened?”

“There was a hiccup upstairs,” John replied, striding forward. Jess had been moved so that she was lying on a couch, and Dean and Castiel were standing at a nearby table. “We need to get started on the spell as soon as possible. Castiel, the angels you’re contact with - can they be trusted?”

“I trust them.”

“That’s not what I asked,” John retorted with a frown. “Can they be trusted to help us reopen the Gates of Heaven?”

Castiel thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. This is the spell array we’re using…”

Castiel frowned as John reeled off the spell and a few ingredients. “That uses Higher Enochian - only the archangels have that knowledge.”

“Then it’s a good thing we have someone on our side who spent five millennia with two archangels, isn’t it?”

Sam. Of course. All that time he’d spent with Michael and Lucifer… Castiel nodded. “I will contact the other angels.”

Dean huffed a disbelieving laugh as Castiel left. “I used to dream about this moment - if I’d ever get to see you again. What I’d say. Of course it has to be in the middle of a crisis.”

John snorted. “That’s the way our lives work, isn’t it, son. Let’s get the blood sigils drawn. The bunker have all the ingredients we need?”

“Yeah. Most of them are the same ones we used for the uh, other two rituals.”

Dean made quick work on the sigils under John’s direction. It felt familiar, like the hunts he’d gone on with his father before. Back when John knew everything, and nothing could touch him.

“I don’t know how much time we have,” John said as he surveyed their work, “So I’ll come out and say it - Dean, don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Dean’s insides froze. “... What?”

“This thing between you and Sam… You two are stronger together.”

Dean snorted, crossing his arms. “You and I know that, but he’s the one who doesn’t want to be brothers anymore.”

John gave his son a considering look, his ears still ringing with Mary’s lectures. “You did trick him into giving false consent to an angel.”

“I saved his life!” Dean snapped back.

“And the possession? Taking demons’ marks and doing their dirty work?”

Dean bristled. “You did the same!”

“And look where that got us.”

“I did what you would have done - what you always taught me to do. You’re the one who told me to save him or -” Dean choked on his words, unable even now to complete the thought.

“To save him or kill him,” John finished for him, “I remember. I also remember telling you that when demons were after him, so that you could _protect him_. And in the end, Sam proved us all wrong, didn’t he? Stood up to Lucifer and won. He always did march to his own tune.”

Dean’s scoffed lightly under his breath and John continued. “I know you’re scared, Dean. I know you’re scared of losing Sam. I’ve been there - I was there every day after your mother died. And you know how that ended. I nearly lost your brother because I couldn’t see him past my own fear. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Dean’s head shook slightly, as if in denial. “It’s not - I don’t - I don’t know what to do, Dad! All I wanted was to keep him _safe_. I - I’m nothing without him.”

“You’re more than you know, Dean,” John replied, reaching towards his son. “You always have been. You were strong enough to spit in Destiny’s face, withstand Hell and Purgatory and everything in between. You know what Sam needs to hear - Hell, you’ve always known what Sam needs, better than I did. And you’re strong enough to say it.”

Dean could almost feel John’s hand on his shoulder, warm and steady. His emotions were a storm inside him, setting his blood on fire and pounding at his temples. How many times had he dreamt of this moment, wished for it, prayed for it? How many times had he _not_ , too afraid of the shame and disappointment he was sure was his due?

“You’re a better person than me, son,” John said, his gruff voice belying his gentle expression. “You have made me so damn proud to be your father.”

Dean felt a laugh bubbling up, because who’d have thought Sammy got his propensity for chick-flick moments from their Dad of all people? God, what even was their life?

“Heaven’s a good look for you, Dad,” Dean answered, and he knew John would hear everything he couldn’t say in it - _Thank you, I love you, I miss you._

John grinned, full and bright, and he was the Dad Dean remembered in the depths of his heart, at the back of his mind - before demons and grief and death. Dean wished he was corporeal so he could hug him one last time.

John started glowing and gave Dean a crooked smile. “That’s my cue to head back. Take care of yourself, son.”

Dean nodded, shielding his eyes as John disappeared in a flash of light, and murmured, “Goodbye, Dad.”

Dean knelt down and placed his palm over a sigil and started chanting. The floor lit up around him as the spell took hold. Dean frowned as the incantation fell from his lips.

There was still something missing.

Jess’ words ran through his mind again, every word stabbing into him as sharply as it had the first time around.

_You know what Sam needs_

_You’re strong enough to say it_

Dean swallowed, feeling his heart clench and his eyes burn. “Sammy, I hope you can hear me…”

 

* * *

 

Sam knew Metatron had arrived even before the doors to the Roadhouse slammed open, the walls shuddering.

The Roadhouse was filled with people, hunters and Men of Letters, spread out strategically. They were standing by walls and kneeling, chanting lowly, sigils rising from the floor and the walls and spreading around them, pulsing with energy. There were people Sam wished he could talk to, learn from, if only he had more time.

But in the end, it didn’t matter - eliminating Metatron and restoring Heaven was what was important.

“Winchesters,” Metatron said with a sigh, “I should have known you were involved. Hello again, Sam.”

Sam sneered, maintaining his kneeling position and continuing with his incantation. God, he was going to take _so much_ pleasure wiping this guy out.

The angel huffed. “Really? Do you honestly think your petty chanting is going to work on God’s Favored?”

Metatron waved a hand, and the tables and chairs in the Roadhouse went flying, sending people ducking for cover.

“Ash!” Ellen cried out in alarm as her former lodger disappeared. She rounded on Metatron. “What did you do to him?!”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll turn up sooner or later,” Metatron replied, sauntering forward into the carnage.

Another wave of his hand and several of their sigils disappeared.

Metatron frowned, as if disappointed. “You know, for such a powerful beacon, I was really hoping for more of a challenge. This is really rather boring.”

Sam risked a glance at his father and swore internally. They’d expected Metatron to be powerful, expected to take some hits, but they hadn’t expected _this_. John gave a curt nod, and several hunters leaped to tackle Metatron.

None of them even made contact.

“Anyone else? I’m in a generous mood today, if you all quietly go back to sleep, I won’t even smite any of you - well, except for you, Sam. I’m afraid I will have to smite you. Someone has to serve as an example, after all.”

“Like Hell,” John snarled, a knife appearing in his hand.

Metatron rolled his eyes. “Well, if you’re so keen to volunteer, John -”

The angel reappeared in front of John, hand outstretched.

“ _Dad_!”

“The Mission comes first, Sam!” John ordered, darting away from Metatron’s touch.

The walls of the Roadhouse shuddered again and started crumbling.

Sam cursed internally again, his fist clenching. If his father got himself wiped out of existence with his last words being about _the Mission_ , Sam was going to kill him _himself_.

Damn it, weren’t they supposed to be powerful? Sam could see Henry’s distraught face at the edge of his field of vision, the man scrambling to set up more sigils on the floor.

“None of that, now,” Metatron tutted, snapping his fingers in Henry’s direction.

The oldest Winchester vanished, a half-formed sigil pulsing weakly.

“ _Pops!”_

_“Henry!”_

John let out a wordless cry of rage and rushed at the angel.

“Dad, no -”

John vanished.

_Oh God. They were going to get slaughtered._

Sam frantically tried to push more power into the spell - so much for his “powerful” soul! He had overcome _Lucifer himself_ , and was still _powerless_ against Metatron.

_Damn it all._

Metatron turned to Sam. “I’m sorry, Sam. I really am.”

Sam’s blood pounded in his ears, the weight of his failure sinking into his bones. After all this…

_“Sammy, I hope you can hear me…”_

Time seemed to still as Dean’s voice filtered into Sam’s mind.

_“... It’s Dean. Your pain in the ass big brother. I… I’m sorry, Sam. You were right, I **am** scared. I’m scared as all Hell of losing you, always have been. I… I let that get the better of me, and I hurt you. Badly. I saved your life, but I didn’t think about what it would cost you. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I need you, Sammy. I’m gonna… I’m gonna do better. I’m gonna try. When this is over, when you’ve ground Metatron into freaking paste… Please… please come back. I love you, man.”_

Sam felt something unfurl in his chest.

There it was.

He remembered this, remembered how he had wrestled control away from Lucifer years ago. Sam looked up at Metatron, strength flooding through him. “You’re _dead_.”

Metatron barely had time to raise a mocking eyebrow before Sam slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. The angel squirmed, but Sam’s big hand was on his forehead, pinning him down, his knee digging into the smaller man’s solar plexus.

Let him know how powerless, how terrified Kevin felt.

Higher Enochian tumbled from his lips and Sam felt echoes of Lucifer and Michael’s vastness singing under his skin. Dimly, he noted other pinning down Metatron’s arms and legs.

Good.

Metatron’s eyes bugged out. “You can’t -”

He _could_ , and he _would_. He had his brother’s love and his brother’s faith, he had grief and rage and hope and five millennia in Hell seared into his bones. He had justice screaming in his veins.

For Kevin.

For Castiel.

For the angels who Fell.

For Dean.

For _himself_.

Metatron screamed and the world exploded in _light_.

 

* * *

 

Dean swore as bright light flooded the room, burning his eyes.

_Always with the light!_

There was a loud ringing in his ears - and was that a thud somewhere? - and clearly _something_ was happening.

God, he hoped this worked.

The light and ringing disappeared as quickly as they came, leaving Dean blinking frantically to readjust.

“Sammy?”

There was a body lying on the floor in front of him - Sam!

Dean was at his brother’s side instantly, checking the other man for injuries. He was warm - _alive_ \- and his pulse was strong.

Sam groaned weakly, clawing his his way back to consciousness. “... D’n…?”

“I gotcha, Sammy,” Dean replied fervently, helping Sam sit up.

Sam blinked, giving his older brother a dazed smile. “Hi, Dean…”

It hit Dean then, how long it had been since he’d seen his little brother truly smile, with his eyes unguarded and lit up in joy.

Yeah, that was going first on his list of things to fix.

“Heaven has been reopened,” a gravelly voice announced, and Dean would later swear he _didn’t_ jump a foot in the air. Or yelp like a scalded puppy. He didn’t.

“ _Jesus, Cas!_ ”

The angel looked down at him and Sam with faint awe and gratitude in his expression. “The Gates of Heaven are open again. The angels are returning home. My grace has been restored.”

“It worked?” Sam whispered, as if he didn’t dare to hope.

Castiel nodded. “It worked, Sam.”

Relief spread across Sam’s face. “And - and Dad? Henry? Ash? Are they…”

“They’re fine. Asleep, for now.”

A feminine groan cut through the air, and Dean realised there was another body in front of him, beyond Sam - Jess had fallen off the couch, and was trying to push herself up.

… Wait. What?

“ _Jess_?” Sam’s voice was high and raw and terrified.

Jess frowned, taking in the other occupants of the room. “Sam? Dean? Feathers? ... Please tell me you’re not dead, because that would defeat the point of… everything.”

Sam shook his head in confusion. “No - no, we’re -” He looked at Castiel pleadingly. “Cas?”

Castiel crossed over to crouch beside Jess, helping her sit up. “You’re alive, Jessica.”

Jess stared at the angel.

Castiel turned to Sam. “Sam, when you tweaked the spell that allowed Jessica to come to Earth, what did you use?”

Sam frowned tiredly, tugging at his memory.

Castiel’s eyes widened slightly when he heard the words Sam used. “... It would appear that with the rituals already active, Sam’s use of Higher Enochian created a cross-reaction that resurrected Jessica.”

Dean, Jess, and Sam stared.

Jess was the first to break, giggling. “... Are you telling me… that my boyfriend overachieved and accidentally _brought me back to life?_ ”

“Yes, that is accurate.”

Jess’ giggles intensified. “Oh my _God_ , Sam!”

Sam reached out for her hand and gripped it tight, his own laughter breaking free. He buried his head in Dean’s shoulder, his other hand clutching at Dean’s shirt so tightly his knuckles were white. “ _Christ_. How is this our life, Dean?”

Looking at the two near-hysterical Stanford grads, Dean wished he had an answer.

“I’m afraid I don’t see the humour here,” Cas commented.

Dean snorted. Well, it was good to see some things never changed. “Just smile and nod, Cas. Just smile and nod until the Wonder Twins calm down.”

Jess seemed to find the nickname even funnier, doubling over as Sam vaguely attempted to hit at Dean’s chest. Dean understood perfectly; he could feel the relief and euphoria flushing through his veins, creating a heady mix. Heaven was open, Metatron was gone, and Cas had his mojo back. Sammy was alive and safe and apparently, so was his girlfriend - the love of his life, if Dean remembered right. They still had Abaddon and Crowley and Gadreel and the Mark of Cain to deal with -

\- But for the first time in a long while, their future looked bright.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Please, let me know!
> 
> If anything in here stirs the need for discussion in you, shoot me a message. You can also find more of my thoughts on Sam Winchester here: http://queen-of-carven-stone.tumblr.com/tagged/Sam-Winchester


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